


Love, Eren

by yuraaa



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Based on Love Rosie, Fluff and Angst, Levi and Eren are best friends, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, extremely gay mutual pining, extremely gay slow burn, like wtf, someone pls just tell them to communicate, they’re a bunch of idiots tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:21:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26832859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuraaa/pseuds/yuraaa
Summary: “It was no ordinary friendship. We were inseparable — constantly being separated.”Levi and Eren are best friends.That’s the problem.Based on the novel, and movie “Love, Rosie,” comes a story about how the right love, can happen to the right people, at the worst possible time.
Relationships: Levi/Eren Yeager
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Love, Eren

_Take a deep breath, and start at the beginning._

_Tell them how we first met._

On the morning of his 8th birthday, Eren’s mom had woken him up with kisses swooping down on him, drops of her mouth on his cheeks, his forehead, his chin. Her smile sprawled across his face — She reminds him of the birds Zeke loved to watch on the Discovery Channel, taking over a fifteen-minute segment, and his brother’s whole world every 9:45 on Tuesday nights, with their golden beaks, and their powederpuffed chest ( _They’re Seagulls, Eren. Stop calling them powderpuff, you uncultured babywipe_ ), like they’d crack your head if you looked at them wrong. The way their wings flapped like white boomerangs when they peck the ocean, knocking on the water for a bit of breakfast.

Eren does not appreciate getting turned into seagull breakfast on the morning of his 8th birthday, by his seagull mom, which he knows in someway is caused by his soon-to-be-seagull brother. He was promised chocolatechip pancakes for _his_ breakfast, after all. 

Eren buries himself further within the blankets, trying to become one with the bed. He hears his mom laugh, her gentle hands still trying to shake him awake. She cards her fingers through his hair, getting him stuck in the spaces between her knuckles. He loves being so small, he fits right into her palm. 

“Happy birthday, my darling,” She whispers, her breath warm as it tucks itself in his ear, “I love you, but if you don’t get up right now, then I hold no responsibility for Zeke diving after your pancakes.”

That makes him shoot up the bed so fast, his body like a pinball launched, bouncing even with his feet tangled on the sheets as he scrambles for the door. His mom yells a ‘ _Don’t run on the stairs, Eren,’_ and because he’s a good boy, he doesn’t. He slides down the railing instead. 

Eren makes a beeline for the kitchen, but stops when he passes by the living room. Colored papers, and confetti poppers, and cartoon cutouts sprinkled around the house, like enchantments in a witch’s lair, and his dad perched on a stool, sticking a ‘ _Happy Birthday_ ’ banner on the wall, and his brother by his feet, blowing on a balloon, only to suck the air back in. 

Zeke’s eyes snap up to him, grinning with the deflated rubber between his teeth. Eren scrunches his nose at the drool drying on the side of his mouth, “Happy birthday, spit!” Eren makes a face at him, grabbing a gluestick off the table, and chucking it at his brother’s head. He absolutely hates that nickname. 

Eren played Peter Pan for last year’s school play, and he ended up sneezing midline all over Tinkerbell’s glitter-caked face, who retaliated by licking a stripe of saliva on her palm, and slapping him on the face with it. They ended up trying to outspit the other while live on stage. And Zeke’s never let him live that day down ever since.

“Zeke,” His dad scolds, planting his feet back on stable ground, “How many times have I told you that, that is not a nice way to address your brother?” He sighs, then crouches down, smiling at Eren, arms open, “Happy birthday, son. Come here, give your old man a hug.”

Eren runs to him, face slamming into his chest. A gruff chuckle beating back. Eren’s small, pudgy hands tries to stretch themselves around his dad’s back, giggling at the feeling of his beard tickling his forehead. His dad, who, even when down to half his size, is still the biggest and warmest dad in the history of all dads. Both the friendly giant, and the mighty king scrawled on his picture books. Caged in his arms, Eren is a hero, and a prince. 

Eren hears the click of a camera, in duet with his mother’s soft cooing. He turns his head to look at her, his eyes zeroing in on the wrapped box she’s got wedged between an arm, and a hip, and then he’s back to pinball-bouncing across the room, almost falling over Zeke, who tried to trip him with the silly strings. 

Eren sticks his hands out, waiting for his gift. His eyes wide at the way the light glints on the smooth wrapping paper. He can’t wait to tear it all off. 

“Okay, I know you shouldn’t be opening your gifts until the actual party, but I can’t resist giving you this one early, because I know how much you want it, and I’m sure you’d wanna show it to Armin when you stop by his house to get him later. So here,” His mom plops the box down his ready palms, and he rips through it the moment it makes contact with his skin. Bits of cardboard, and paper, fluttering in the air, raining down on him, swirling over his head like a cardboard-and-paper storm. 

He gasps when he reaches the bottom of the box, his face split in a smile so big, you could probably see his brain if he opens his mouth wide enough. His mom ruffles his hair, bending down to pluck his brand new light-up shoes, and helping him fit them onto his feet. 

Eren wiggles excitedly the entire time, and when his laces are finally tied, he runs, and he jumps, and he flies, and he tries for a cartwheel which resulted in him rolling on the carpet, like an awkwardly bent pretzel, and Zeke’s laughing, and his dad’s laughing, and his mom’s laughing, while she blinds him with the flash and clicks of her camera, but he doesn’t care, because he’s got the stars beneath his toes, the whole milkyway strapped on his feet, and the government will have to name a planet after him, because he is Eren Jaeger, and he is eight years old, drenched in morning sweat, and brand-new-sneaker-light, and he’s the brightest thing in the whole wide world.

* * *

  
Of course, this was not the first time Eren had been terribly, terribly wrong. Nor was this the first time he had been injured for being terribly, terribly wrong. 

Because one second, he was on his way to Armin’s house, pounding light into the pavement with his stomping feet—shooed away by his mom who was flitting across the house, navigating over the clutter of streamers, and lights, and backdrop banners, and paper lanterns; he was banned from seeing the finished product until the time of the actual party—then the next, he was splattered on the ground, his knee cracked like an egg, and looming over him, was a boy. 

He’s got black hair, fringe clumped on his forehead by the early afternoon heat, eyebrows bumping against each other, his skin pale, like he showers with milk, instead of drinking it for breakfast. He’s wearing a band shirt that Eren’s convinced his mother would say he’s a hundred years too young to be listening to, and his wrist is littered with animal wristbands — Eren squints; the one in the middle was either an elephant or a giraffe. He’s too dizzy to be sure.

And his eyes. All that gray. All that silver. Sparkling, and shiny, like the diamonds his mom wears on her ears for Christmas. Like the coins tossed at mall fountains. Like his collection of metal bottle caps. 

_And he was the brightest thing in the whole wide world._

At least, until he opened his mouth.

“Oi, you bloody idiot,” The boy says, his voice pitched high with panic, shining down on him with a frown, and a front tooth missing. Eren wants to poke the gap with a stick, “You _literal_ bloody idiot,” He winces when the boy checks over the red gushing from his knee, “If you’re too stupid to cross the street alone, then don’t cross the street alone—your mom’s gonna kill me. _My mom_ is gonna kill me. And we just moved in the neighborhood, too. Fudge. If my bike gets confiscated, I swear—“

“You just said a bad word,” Eren sniffs, teeth clamping down his lip to keep it from wobbling, because he’s eight years old, and that means he’s a big boy now, and big boys weren’t supposed to cry. He scrunches up his face, and it must not have looked very good, because the boy panics agan, his hands flapping like a spooked bird. 

“Oh, shut up—I mean, don’t—don’t cry. You look like a wrinkle. And fudge isn’t a bad word, you stupid baby duck.”

“It is! And I’m not stupid! Why are you so mean?!” Eren feels his throat start to swell, his knee throbbing like the bone is starting to spill out, the torn skin beating everytime he moved. He looks down at his shoes, the white dusted with dirt, his stars, and milkyway dead under the criscrossed imprint of a bike wheel. Forget being a big boy. He could be one tomorrow. Eren opens his mouth, and he _wails_ , “I’m telling mom!” 

“No, no, no, wait. Wait. Okay. I’m sorry, and—“ He grimaces at the angry puff of Eren’s knee, “Geez, that’s a lot of blood.”

Eren wails _harder_.

“Okay, okay, okay. Stop—stop. Just—look at my hands. Look,” The boy waves his hands, flipping it front and back, “Empty, see?” Eren nods, sniffing. His cry dying down. The boy sighs, and smiles at him in relief. Eren doesn’t know why it makes his stomach feel all twisty, but it turns him back to being the brightest thing in the whole wide world — the whole galaxy, even. Eren leans closer, trying to see if he’s got the Sun hidden somewhere in his teeth. The boy moves his right hand behind Eren’s ear, and grinning, he pulls it back, producing a coin out of thin air, “Tah-dah.”

Eren’s eyebrows shoot up his head so high, he thinks he may have lost it. He’s gonna have to go home eyebrow-less. His mom’s face is gonna go pimple-red again, and he’s sure Zeke will draw his weird rockets on them while he sleeps, but his dad is a doctor, so he’ll know what to do. He’ll fix Eren up good as new.

Eren grabs the boy’s hand, gaping wildly at the coin. It makes the boy laugh. Eren feels it vibrate inside his head. He likes it. He really, really, really likes it. A lot. Likes it a lot, a lot. 

“Cool, isn’t it? Here, you can have it. Consider it my apology for, you know, running you over with my bike,“ The boy drops the coin on Eren’s sweaty hands, and he holds it, like he’s got a heart on his open palm, and he’s never gonna let it go, ever, “I’m Levi, by the way. Levi Ackerman. Moved in the neighborhood today with my Mom, and my sister. You are?”

“I’m Eren. Eren Jaeger. But just Eren is okay.”

Levi smirks, “Well, ‘ _Just Eren_ ,’” He slings Eren’s arm over his shoulder, digs his finger on the soft rolls of his waist, supporting both their weight up, their legs wobbling as they stand. The wind makes Levi’s hair fly, brushing against Eren’s cheek, the dip of his mouth, and he’s everywhere so suddenly, it makes Eren’s brain flip over like the rollercoaster he and Armin rode last summer fair. Like something inside him is springing loose, “I hope you know how to put those puppy dog eyes to good use, because I’d rather not get grounded on my first day here.”

“They can’t get mad at us,” Eren shakes his head, “It’s my birthday today. Adults aren’t allowed to get mad during birthdays.”

Levi groans, “Really? You mean I did this to you on your freakin’ birthday? As if I wasn’t feeling guilty enough.”

“It’s okay. You can come to my party later, and we’ll call it even. Deal?” Eren offers his hand out for a shake. Levi blinks down at it, blinks up at Eren. Then he throws his head back laughing, and Eren feels it again. This weird lurching in his chest. Like his heart is climbing up his mouth. He really should talk to his dad about this. Let him do all his doctor-y things, because something in him is definitely _not_ working right.

Levi shakes his hand, and he beams, “Deal.”

And that’s how on the afternoon of his 8th birthday, with his popped open knee, and his ruined light-up shoes, and Levi’s abandoned bike, and his band shirt, and his bad-word-that-isn’t-a-bad-word; The two of them, hobbling together, like they shared a body—the coin in his hand, still fisted tight—Eren had discovered something he has since then considered a universal truth:

Levi Ackerman was magic.

And he will continue to be so, in the many years to come. 

* * *

_Tell them that ever since, we shared our dreams._

They’re both lying on the floor; Eren staring up at the ceiling, and Levi with a globe balanced on his stomach. He spins it with a lazy hand, the corks, and screws, giving out a whir that sounds like a train crunching stones on its tracks, as it spins. Towns, and cities, and continents zooming by. Levi has his eyes closed, only opening them when his finger lands to a stop. 

“North America,” Levi says, bumping his forehead on Eren’s shoulder.

“North America, North America,” Eren mumbles in thought, “Like..Canada?”

“Canada?”  
  
“Mm. The land of maple syrup, and,” He pauses, “Maple leaves.”

Levi snorts. It’s so ugly, that it’s beautiful, “Does everything you know about Canada revolve around maple?”

“Yes,” Eren nods, taking the globe, and shoving it under his bed. Levi drapes himself over him, trying to reach for it back. Eren accidentally knees him on the neck, “And Winnie The Pooh.”

Levi coughs, pinching his throat, before smacking Eren in the face with a pillow, “Winnie The Pooh is from Canada?”

“Well, he’s named after a city there — Winnipeg.” 

“Winnipeg,” Levi repeats, nods, then splays back on the floor, arms stretched, like a starfish. Eren looks at his hand, all that blue inside his wrist. He dribbles a finger over it, feels the steady rhythm of Levi’s pulse, humming beneath pale skin. Eren puts it over his hear. It sounds like raindrops, “So, we’ll eat pancakes shaped like maple leaves, soaked in maple syrup…“

“While watching Winnie the Pooh at Winnipeg. Deal?” Eren’s nail picks at the fake burger tattoo on Levi’s elbow. The one that comes free with a Bazooka gum.

“My passport is as good as stamped,” Levi grins. They shake on it.

Eren tosses a blanket over them. They stay like that for the rest of the night. Eren wishes they could stay like that for the rest of their lives. 

* * *

_Even Levi’s weirdest ones._

Eren lifts an eyebrow at the odd way Levi holds his cup. His twig fingers clamping on the rim, like a claw crane. Levi takes a small sip of his tea before speaking. Eren will never understand why he likes it. To him, it’s always tasted like humanity’s greatest disappointment. 

“I had a dream last night,” Levi says, cushioning his chin on a hand.

“What about?” 

“I dreamt I was a teacup handle,” Levi licks his lips, tracing the handle of his own cup, “I was made out of porcelain. All nice, and shiny, you know?” Eren nods, urging him to continue, “But then Uncle Kenny poured coffee in the cup I was—handling? And, yeah, it got too hot for me. So I let go, and the cup broke. I ended up in the trash. A dog tried to eat me.”

“Huh.”

Levi looks at him. A look that no one else but him would have been able to read. Because it was them. Levi and Eren, and they were inside-out. They’d hide from the world, but never from each other. They couldn’t— _wouldn’t_ —hide a single thing. 

No matter how twisted things got, they would untangle it together.

Eren grabs his cup, folding his palms over its body. He hisses at the sting of the excessive warmth. Levi doesn’t react. Only waits for him to finish. Eren holds out his hand, and Levi takes it. He always does.

“Hot?” Eren asks.

“Yes.”

“Will you let go?”

Levi grins, “Never.”

~~_No. Keep that as our secret._ ~~

* * *

“Eren,” Mikasa places a hand on his shoulder, leaving a gentle squeeze. Her mouth softened into a sad smile. Eren tries not to look at it too much. Tries not to feel _anything_ at all too much, actually. But there are some things he’s never really been able to hide from her — Not his porn stash, not the three-year old ‘lucky’ condom he keeps in his wallet. And not — his chest clenching, and unclenching, unfamiliar with all the sudden empty space. Not his heart left drunk, and barely beating at the bar, nursing its 5th glass of coke, vanilla vodka, and regret, because it was stupid, and greedy, and indecisive. Never knowing what it wants, until it was no longer allowed to have it, “It’s time.” 

Time for what, Mikasa?

Time for his toast?  
  
Or time to let go?

Both. It was time for both. 

Eren nods, stapling the same smile into his face, clinching it back into place. A smile so worn out, it’s fraying at the edges. 

_Tell them that this is—_

The wine glasses clinking. The lights blinking gold, and silver, and white. The chandelier dangling expensively, like the occasion’s own personal Sun. The candles glowing, like drops of stars. The flowers picked from Eden. The piano sighing soft notes in the air. The gossiping aunts. The huffing uncles. The noisy cousins. The old friends, and the new ones. The flushed bridesmaids. The polished groomsmen. The proud parents. The blushing bride.

_That this has to be—_

And then Levi.

Levi who tied mittens on Eren’s hands when he had the chickenpox. Levi who pushed him on swings. Levi who cheats at Go Fish. Levi who used to have a Brad Pitt poster on his ceiling. Levi who has a handheld vacuum cleaner collection. Levi who caught the ball barehanded at a baseball game. Levi who doesn't know how to swim, but likes the smell of the ocean. Levi who likes looking at clouds. Levi who’s allergic to nuts, but keeps Almonds in his pantry, because Almonds are Eren’s favorite. Levi who always saves the last slice of pizza for him. Levi who still calls him a wrinkle when he cries. 

Levi who was the brightest thing in the whole wide world

Levi who was _magic_ …being magic for someone else.

The wedding ring on his finger, a love spell.

But for Eren, a curse.

_—one of the happiest days…of my life._

“Everybody,” Eren stands, ringing a fork against his glass, calling for everyone’s attention, “Please,” He unfolds the piece of paper that holds his congratulatory speech. The more he looks at it, the more it’s starting to seem like he’s about to carry out his own death sentence, ”For those I haven’t had the chance to say hi to properly — I’m Eren, Levi’s…best friend. And this has _got_ to be one of the happiest days of my life.”

Eren doesn’t know when things began changing — why growing up had to mean him and Levi outgrowing everything they used to be together. It makes him want to scream. But at the moment, it makes him just want to be honest.

Levi smiles. One of his rare ones. The kind that made an eight-year old forget about his brand new light-up sneakers. There was a time when Eren thought that smile was meant for no one else but him. Reserved exclusively for the two of them.

Of course, this was not the first time Eren had been terribly, utterly, _devastatingly_ wrong. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I just recently rewatched Love, Rosie, and I just couldn’t resist making an au out of it! I MEAN HELLO??? THE PINING?? THE ANGST??? THE SEXUAL TENSION??? That’s an Ereri recipe for disaster, and I am absolutely here for it!
> 
> I also have another Ereri fic based on canon, it’s called The Choices We Made. I hope you give that one a try, as well. And if you know who I am from that fic, hello! Nice to see you here! Please give this one as much love as TCWM. And if you’ve never watched Love, Rosie before then what are you waiting for? GO, GO, GO!
> 
> Anyway, this is fairly short, since this is basically just an intro. And like I said, if you know me from TCWM, you know how much I love my angst and my feeels. 
> 
> Please tell me what you think, and let’s be friends on the comment section below! Enjoy!


End file.
